


Memories Locked in Melody

by CalliopeSpeaks88



Category: Fallout 3
Genre: Angst, F/M, Hurt/Comfort, Romance, Sexual Content
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-18
Updated: 2014-05-18
Packaged: 2018-01-25 15:41:28
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,805
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1653845
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CalliopeSpeaks88/pseuds/CalliopeSpeaks88
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>An ipod shuffle exorcise centering around Butch and a female Lone Wanderer. This ties in with my story, "Wasteland Perspectives" if any of you are fans of that. With that said, please read and review. Thanks.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Memories Locked in Melody

**Author's Note:**

> I do not own the Fallout series in any shape or form. It belongs to Bethesda Game Studios.

"Who'll Stop the Rain," by Creedence Clearwater Revival

Dad walked out. Left Ma a battered mess on the floor. Her eyes were big and pearly. Butch tried to comfort her, but she only pushed him away. She called him a "mistake" again, like always when she'd been drinking. It hurt the young boy. Without a second thought he ran out of his small dwelling in search of anything else to occupy his mind other than the dull hurt.

His eyes were getting glassy like Ma's had been; he felt tears like an unrelenting rainstorm smack his cheeks in wet lazy droplets. He'd never seen rain. Only heard of it in class, but he knew in some round-a-bout way that his tears were going to be incessent much like the precipitation itself. Butch shrugged himself into a tougher stance. Yeah, he may be young but he was still Butch. He was one of the coolest kids in this shit-hole, so what if his parents didn't care about him? He'd make others take note like her. . . .

Gemma, a girl he lately couldn't stop thinking about. Always saying something smart, getting the best grades and laughing the loudest. At that moment, the boy felt an intense urge to push her to the ground; he wanted to make her small, smaller than himself. He'd do that alright. Butch would push her, make her cry out and blush crimson. He liked that blush of hers. It might cheer him up, but first he had to stop the tears cascading down his face. No need for anyone to see him cry, especially Gem.

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"Last Words," by Real Tuesday Weld

She had a dream the other night of flying to some far off land of lights, sound and music. It was only herself and this faceless boy. He wore a leather jacket and smelled of booze. They ran together, holding hands. It all felt so right.

Gemma crinkled her nose thinking about her previous nighttime dalliance in dreamland. It was silly really. Absolutely stupid how this conjured male counterpart of hers made her feel so alive.

He had careless brown hair; she remembered he had combed it up at some point and slicked it back. The boy laughed, saying how he wanted to slither around the world like a snake. Little no nonsense Gemma had giggled at this. She was faintly smiling now when thinking about it. Her quiet bit of contemplation was interrupted by Deloria. That ass had once again hit her in the back of the head with a crumpled piece of paper.

Whipping her head around fast enough to give the girl whiplash, she spied Butch pursing his lips together in a pretend kiss. She scowled. What a moron this guy was. How long had he been bugging her anyway? Since forever it had felt like. Sighing, Gemma doodled in her notebook with the sound of a song she'd never heard before steadily beating in her head. It was soothing and lulled the tired teen into a peaceful frame of mind. She wondered if it was the music from her dream. It had words then (back in the haze of dreaming) and she wished she could remember them, if only so she could sing along.

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"Help Me, Rhonda," by The Beach Boys

He wanted to apologize to her. Gemma hadn't left her room since they had jostled over her damned B.B. gun. It was her beloved rifle, and yeah, maybe he should've asked to use it, but that wasn't Butch's style. The girl had held it so damn steady; he wanted to hold that gun as steady as Gemma did. He wanted to prove something to her, but didn't know what exactly. The only thing the boy knew was he wanted to show her he was just as good as she was. Yeah, that didn't really happen now did it?

Furious at her overtaking him in his moment of thievery (and kicking him in his tender bits) he screamed at her. Yelled how much of an ugly mistake she was. Went on and on about how the grey eyed girl in front of him was a "mother killer." A monster. The words left his mouth in a torrent of bitterness and pure hatred. It had undone the stoic girl before him in a way that left Butch feeling sick.

Now she was holed up in her vault apartment. Hadn't come to class in days. Amata kept shooting Butch angry glances; if looks could kill hers would've been murderous. Angry, Butch decided that saying "sorry" was weak. Stupid. Instead, he'd lose himself in other pursuits more worthy of his time. Giving him sideways looks was that Rhonda girl. Rumor had it she had a crush on him. Butch didn't know if he liked her all that much, what with her boorish girlish laughter and blond pigtails, but he'd give this one a chance. She wasn't Gemma, and to Butch that was all that mattered.

*****************************************************************************************************************************

"Didn't Leave Nobody But the Baby," by Emmylou Harris

He'd been out carousing later than he had intended to. It was past curfew in the vault. Out with his busty blonde Rhonda again. What disturbed Butch was while he was fooling around with his "girl" his mind had been wrapped around another. . . . Gemma.

He didn't know why really. They hated each other. Probably always would too. Yet, there she had been at the forefront of his thoughts while Ms. Randy Rhonda unbuckled his jeans and blew Butch's load. The young greaser felt disgusted for some reason. Didn't know why really. Shit, what was his problem anyway?

While drunkenly trying to avoid the Overseer's security guards, Butch somehow found himself at Gemma's place. Fuck. What the hell was he doing here? Yawning Butch thought, Screw it. I'm already here. In his haze of Jack Daniels Butch knocked the piss out of Gem's front door. He vaguely considered how lucky he was that Gemma had answered him and not her dad, but only vaguely.

After the entrance had "whooshed" open it created this ungodly silence between himself and her. It felt like an age where they just stared at each other. Gemma looked annoyed, while also amused. Butch must've looked like a damn mess. He dumbly zipped up the fly he'd left open from before, making Gem laugh mockingly.

She did not appear messy at all. The girl standing before him was somehow radiant. Beautiful even. The way the lanky brunette stood made Gemma seem regal. Fuck him! Despite her hair being all mussed up, or her eyes foggy from sleep, Ms. Perfect seemed, well, perfect.

Butch groggily said, "Go to sleep little baby," then he kissed her, an act that jolted Butch's entire body awake. Embarrassed he pushed Gemma off. The girl rolled her eyes only saying, "I'm not Rockin' Rhonda Deloria. Her abode is that way," and pointed down the right hallway. Butch simply said, "Fuck," and trudged off.

His face felt hot and his stomach acidic. He'd kissed her and Gemma didn't even shiver. Nope. She'd simply sent the Tunnel Snake on his merry way like the idiot he was. Butch angrily thought how he'd get her back soon. Real soon too. For the moment, all his brain was doing was itching in irritation over the kiss he had shared with "ghost girl." Her pale skin illuminated his thoughts, causing a sleepless night once the wayward Butch reached home.

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"In Space," by Ludo

The Wasteland was hers now. He was left behind once she ran out after that smug father of hers. Gem's dad never did much care for Butch. It might've been the fact the boy was constantly picking on his daughter. That or he never forgave him for that late night kiss he'd given his baby girl all those months ago. Butch scowled as he stared his reflection down in the mirror. Why the mouse was constantly on his mind Mr. Tough guy didn't know. Butch kept trying to figure it out, but kept coming up blank on the matter.

Maybe it was because he was jealous that he wasn't with her? Yeah, that could be it. He'd like to be raisin' his own hell while Gemma did her Gemma thing. Making a name for himself would've have been nice; something dark, brooding and legendary.

Snickering Butch also considered he thought about Gem because she had his Tunnel Snake jacket. It wasn't as if Gemma had stolen the damn thing though. In a rush of retarded gratitude Butch had given the jacket to Gemma. The girl had saved his Ma after all. It was the least he could do in return for Gemma kicking ass while Butch cowered in fear.

Chugging down a quick shot of whiskey, Butch wiped his mouth dry. It was time to do something else other than think about Gemma. He had hair to barber, Tunnel Snake business to take care of, and secret resistance crap Amata wanted him to do. Yeah, his day was filled to the brim with shit. No use thinking about his adversary. It wasn't like she thought of him at all anyways. He was just Butch to her. Stupid loud lousy Butch Deloria and that's all he'd ever be to that girl too-a nobody.

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"Don't Dream It's Over," by Crowded House

On the road to see dear old dad again. That's all the young lady ever did these days was pursue the ghost of her father. It made for a lonely vagabond existence. Tugging at her leather coat (thanks to Deloria) Gemma walked stoically, steely gaze watchful for any low life raiders or mercenaries. Beside her, Gemma's gentle dog snorted. Must've smelled something interesting, the girl absently mused.

The wind aggressively tore at Gemma's clothes. Mechanically, she found herself clutching the sides of her well worn jacket. Damn zipper had fallen off somewhere between Megaton and The Republic of Dave. Everywhere felt gloomy, desolate and gray to Gem. The world was awash with corruption on the outside (more so than the vault could ever imagine). Butch wouldn't even last alone in such a world, even with all his bullshitting. It amused Gemma to know end to realize that Butch wasn't half the bastard as he let on he was. He didn't even come close to being as much of a jerk off as those she'd crossed in Capital Shit-Hole. The Flamers for one were a group of soulless pricks that would definitely give Deloria a run for his money. Might even make the greaser toss his cookies too. Those ass-hats did vile things to each other as well as their targets.

The dream Gem carried when she was still simply a vault dweller had died. The life of adventure and beauty she often prayed for was all wishful thinking. Reality was far harsher; the wasteland was an unforgiving cold assassinator of hope and optimism. If she returned home would any of her fellow vaulties recognize her? Sighing, Gemma already knew the answer to her own question. None of them would call her just Gemma anymore.

The stench of prickly despair that sizzled off her skin would clue them into the change within her. Whatever innocence she had coveted once had been stolen by the wastes. Butch was a purer soul than she was now. Feeling broken, Gemma signaled to Charon to make camp. She wanted rest, sleep and food. Mostly she wanted a friend, even Deloria would do. Gemma smiled at this. Anything was possible out here, even befriending a glorified asshole.

*****************************************************************************************************************************

"Anything But Fine," by Zox

Valentine's Day came again. Butch smirked at the pile of cards he had stacked atop his desk. He scanned the room. Gemma looked bored. Her desk bare save for one or two cards. He was sure Amata had given her one. Frowning, the ruffian wondered who the other card was from. Before he could make any guesses on the matter, he felt hot breath against his ear. It was Rhonda. She began to brag about how she and her "girls" had sent Gemma a nasty anonymous card saying how ugly they thought she was. Butch felt irritated at the tale. It made his stomach lurch in an odd angry way. Shrugging his girlfriend off, Butch said she'd done good. What else was he supposed to say? Was he supposed to say that he was tired of her shit when he himself didn't know why? Sure, he disliked that know-it-all brat too, but Butch couldn't understand why this latest bit of cruelty bothered him so much.

As class progressed, the leader of the Tunnel Snakes tore holes in the back of Gemma's head. She seemed so damn sad. Usually she'd have more vigor in her; she had a spark that was hard to dim no matter how you tried to snuff it out. Today, there was no fiery passion from the class's top student. There was only silence originating from his adversary's corner of the room. It left Butch perturbed.

During lunch break Deloria ignored his rowdy friends and sauntered off by himself. Finding a dark abandoned closet, Butch hunkered himself down choosing to sit cross legged. Before he knew what he was doing, a pen was in his hand, and words were being transferred to paper. It was the most eloquent thing he'd ever written. No one would've ever guessed that this bit of poetry was Butch's. It was a simple verse but a pretty one. He wrote it for her. Gemma. He told himself it wasn't because he cared about her. Hell no. It was to shake her out of her funk. He needed that spark to be ignited within her. Butch was bored, that was it! She was his verbal sparring partner and Butch was itching for a fight.

Just before the bell rang, signaling that lunch was over, the cocky trouble maker sauntered over to Gemma's seat. He placed his poem next to her other cards. A grin spread across Butch's face. She'd get a kick out of this for sure! Then he sat down, eager to see how the brain herself would light up at his lyrics. If anything, her reaction would prove entertaining and that's all Deloria needed, a burst of emotion from Ms. Perfect. It proved to him that she was alive, and so was he.

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"Midnight Show," by The Killers

Prom night. It made Gemma snort in derisive laughter. They had such a small damn class, so what was the point? Boys were going to outnumber girls. She guessed some would have two escorts, while Gem stayed home to prepare for finals. Her dad urged her to go, but being the only girl without a date wasn't something Gemma wanted to face. Instead she maintained that she was simply boycotting the ridiculous affair. She was above her classmates shenanigans anyway.

Amata had even said she'd stay with her, but Gemma wasn't hearing any of that. The guy her best friend had been crushing on had asked Amata to the vault's most formal event. As affectionately as Gemma could muster she had said, "Go out with Danny, get your first kiss and get tipsy from the punch you know those Snake idiots are sure to spike." Blushing Amata had quietly agreed. Gemma was pleased as punch. Why should Amata miss out on some fun just because she was going to? Sure, misery loved company but not Gem. She relished taking things in stride. It was all she knew really. Unlike most girls, she had promised herself never to be broken by the cruelty of others. She could weather this storm just as she'd weather the rest.

The evening of the dance Gem found herself alone. Dad was out treating an emergency case of the "mumps." Feeling uppity, Gemma shoved on some shoes and marched down to her secret shooting range. She grabbed her B.B. gun and began to fire an angry barrage of shots, always hitting her targets dead center.

Sourly, Gemma imagined the arms of a lover. As much as she tried to deny it, she was still a slip of a girl that longed for romance. It came with the hormones (that and reading Jane Austen). Mr. Darcy had ruined other men for her. Huffing in agitation, Gem collapsed on a nearby crate. In silence she sat until the door of her sanctuary was rudely opened. There, stood the antithesis of Mr. Darcy: it was Butch. He looked pissed. He smirked when he spied Gemma though. The bastard.

" Honestly, not in the mood to deal with your cave man antics," the girl spat, as she rose to leave. Butch was too fast for her. He grabbed her wrist and huskily whispered, " Who said I came here itchin' for a fight? I came for quiet and maybe for some, ya know, smart talk." Wriggling her slight wrist out of his dopey hands, Gemma sat down in a gust of annoyance next to her rival. He offered her a swig of whatever was in his flask, but Gemma declined.

She wondered why he wasn't with his piggish bitch of a girlfriend. Butch answered her thoughts (as if the idiot had been reading her mind) and said, " Rhonda's having some fun with someone else. Didn't feel like dealing with it, so I decided to get hammered as fuck instead." Gemma quipped that she was sure he was only upset because Butch wouldn't get to have his "fun" tonight. Butch shrugged. "I had my fun a few nights ago, remember? When I kissed you."

Gemma's face went hot and was met by laughter from the greaser. "Before you get your panties in a bunch, just calm the fuck down. You didn't care too much for me anyway ghostie girl. I can take a hint. Just do me a favor, alright?" Gemma crossed her arms around her waist at this and said, "Depends on the favor Deloria." Butch smiled a dazzling white smile and replied with, "Sit with me is all." To Gemma's surprise (and Butch's too) that's exactly what she did.

They sat in companionable silence together for over an hour, then Butch walked Gemma home. There was no sex for either of them that night (not like there was for their other classmates). Instead, both experienced something entirely different-the quiet comfort of being alone with someone strange and new.

Shyly grinning, Gemma realized she had shared a truce with the most obnoxious specimen of man the vault had to offer and lived to tell the tale. It was a very un-romantic evening, but had its own weird charm despite that fact. Feeling blissfully at peace, Gem slept that night leaving her text books untouched and forgotten.

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"Gone Daddy Gone," by The Violent Femmes

Little Rhonda was sulking again. Her blonde hair tide up in a tight bun, making her out to look like a damn librarian (and not the hot kind neither). They'd gotten into another tussle again. It was all about Gemma. Damn girl still stirring up trouble and she wasn't even inside the fucking vault no more! The fuck was up with that?

Rhonda had brought up marriage. It made Butch choke on his bourbon; the liquid scorched the back of his throat in hot waves. Before he could say a word about Rhonda's abrupt proposal, the woman was already yelling at him. She was worse than his damn ma was! Fucking nagging the shit out of him for every stupid ass thing. Shit. It was too much. Then Rhonda had the gall to say he had a "thing" for Gemma and that's why he hadn't made an honest woman out of her. Butch sputtered in shock. What was this chick smoking? A crush on the most headstrong female in this godforsaken hole who wasn't even there no more? The hell was Rhonda's problem anyway?

He had had enough of this shit. Thrusting Rhonda aside Butch said, " Honey, there ain't nothing honest about you. As for the 'mouse,' I don't know what you're getting at. If I mention her, it's cause she's out there doin' something worth talkin' about, unlike the two of us." He left his "girl" there with no intention of returning to her. Fuck Rhonda. Fuck them all. Gemma wasn't in his heart or nothing like that. She just was. Gemma always just was.

There was nothing else to say on the matter really. He was the fire to her ice 'nuff said. There wasn't any helping that. Without thinking it, he found himself inside Gem's old hideout. He stayed there the rest of the night, furiously mulling over the hold that girl had over him and the rest of the lousy place. Butch got no answers on the matter, only heartburn. It felt like wherever she was, Gemma was laughing at him. It made the snake want to slither into a hole. He did one better though, he got shit-faced while pretending like he didn't care about her or her echoing laughter anymore than he did about Rhonda's endless pestering. It didn't work though. Heh. At least Butch could say he tried.

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"The Bitter End," by Placebo

Sometimes, when she slept, Gemma had visions of a world without madness. A quiet existence coupled with sunshine; a world untouched by nuclear fallout. It was a bright shining place that produced beauty as opposed to chaos. She'd walk amongst the greenery she had so often read about back in her Vault 101 days. It was a beautiful world, one that produced nothing but life instead of death. It was when she woke she found herself at a loss.

Surrounding her was the desolate desert that was Virginia. The sun wasn't simply warming, but sizzling. The air was foul. Pollution and radiation were prominent amidst the ugliness of the wastes. Gemma wanted desperately to escape her surroundings. There was no end to this though and no one to lean on either.

Back home she had her friends, hell she even had Butch. For some reason she was missing him. He represented all that was familiar to her and safe. Ironic really. There was nothing safe about Butch Deloria. He had made it his life's mission to create mischief wherever he went. It was also a special habit of his to pick Gemma apart. Still. . .she'd rather be verbally ripping him a new asshole then to be feeling so utterly alone.

Bitterness filled Gemma's heart. She wanted to be home instead of pursuing her dad. Project Purity be damned. Yet, she knew she couldn't do that. Gemma wasn't a coward. Shouldering her pack, the young woman resigned herself to seeing this colossal clusterfuck through. See you in the end Butch, Gemma listlessly mused. With that last thought, she was once more on her way to a destination unknown.


End file.
